


Who Understands But The Broken?

by satanic_panic



Category: Donnie Darko (2001)
Genre: Depression, Gen, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-31
Updated: 2019-08-31
Packaged: 2020-10-03 18:33:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 595
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20457560
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satanic_panic/pseuds/satanic_panic
Summary: You open up to Donnie about things getting bad again.





	Who Understands But The Broken?

"It's getting bad again," you sighed as you ran a hand through your hair with one hand, eyes widening slightly in paranoia; you didn't want him to see the fresh scratches and cuts on your wrist, the dried blood that had turned orange at the edges and dark red in the middle. You could feel yourself shaking, quaking, whilst you sat with crossed legs on your bedroom floor with Donnie opposite you; he had been so worried when you told your father to tell him that you didn't want visitors earlier in the day; it wasn't like you to refuse a visit from Donnie, and when the clock was nearing one, he crawled in through your window to find you sat on your bed, a thick cloud in your eyes, threat of rain. He frowned. 

"What do you mean?" 

You thought of an answer he wanted to hear, but none came to mind, so with incredible reluctance, you offered him your arm, and rolled up your sleeve to expose to angry and harsh lines. "Five months… I… I was clean for… for five months… for five months, I was clean." 

He didn't mind your stuttering and stumbling and repetition as he gently pressed the tips of his fingers to the underside of your arm to keep it steady as he examined the cuts; they weren't deep, nowhere near as angry and red and bloody as they had been before, but they still made him force his eyes to steel. He couldn't allow it to rain. "Why didn't you come and fucking speak to me, (y/n)? You've always said it yourself - who understands but the fucking broken?" 

You could tell that Donnie wasn't angry, he was more upset that you had not reached out, and you couldn't deny that, were the tables turned, you would feel the same; swallowing thickly, you shrugged, quickly covering up your wrist, knowing that each second the knife's marks were out in the open was poisonous, and pained more than the steel of the blade had. "I didn't wanna… didn't wanna talk about it with no one, Donnie, I… I thought I could handle it by myself, but clearly I fucking can't, now, can I?" 

Donnie licked his lips, moving round so that he was beside you, he lifted up one arm, wrapping it around your shoulders so that he could pull you flush against his body, letting you know he was there, he wasn't angry, he wasn't upset, he was just unsure of how to act, what to say; all the madness with Frank that had occurred had gotten to him, and he knew he should've seen the signs of you slipping far sooner. It shouldn't have taken him this long. "I'm sorry, baby. I should've been there for you when things started to get bad again, it shouldn't have taken me this fucking long to notice." 

You shook your head, not wanting him to blame himself for something he couldn't control, leaning into his touch and daring to rest your head against his shoulder, wrapping your arms around him despite the sting of your wrists that told you to let go. "It isn't your fault, it's mine. I should've told you the second the urges came back. I should've told you the second I couldn't feel a damn thing." 

"It's not your fault, either," Donnie assured quietly and with a burdened, heavy, sigh. "Wanna have a smoke and try to get to sleep? I'll stay the night if you want me to, my parents won't notice I'm gone." 


End file.
